


Bloody Knuckles

by Venticelli



Series: A Collection of Kisses [1]
Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Freak Show
Genre: Because that tag is coming here whether you want it to or not, Blood, Bloody Knuckles, Gen, Kissing, M/M, Platonic smoochies, Twandy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-13
Updated: 2015-05-13
Packaged: 2018-03-30 05:58:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3925447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Venticelli/pseuds/Venticelli
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An affectionate moment between Dandy and Twisty after the clown has had a rough night. Sometimes you can find comfort from the most unlikely sources. Can be interpreted as platonic or otherwise. Your choice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bloody Knuckles

**Author's Note:**

> So, this was initially from my Twisty RP blog as a prompt, and I liked it enough to put it up here. I expanded it on some things, but that's about it. Have some clown and crybaby rich boy cuteness.

It had been raining, and the clown's clothes were soaked through from walking through it to the Mott’s gigantic estate, and he had only realized how cold he was once he was inside. While his costume was impressive to behold, it really didn't offer him too much protection from the elements. He would have been content to just sit and dry off by a fire, but when he'd seen him Dandy had insisted that that would have been a guaranteed way to catch a cold. The clown really didn’t care one way or the other about his health, but when his friend suggested that he couldn’t perform if he was sick, he figured that he couldn’t let that happen. And so he'd followed Dandy up to the playroom, only vaguely wondering if there was actually anything in the house that would fit him.  
  
Once the door was closed, the clown stared at Dandy curiously, wondering if he just intended on standing there the whole time. It took a moment, but eventually Dandy got the message and left the room, hopefully to find his clown something dry to wear. Carefully, the clown stripped away his wet clothes until he was wearing not much more than his underwear. His mask was still on of course, and his undershirt clung to torso. He had only just started to dry, and the dampness made his skin itch. Twisty scratched at his skin for a few moments and stared out the window, debating whether or not to take anything else off. He wasn't dripping anymore, but his gloves were starting to feel particularly uncomfortable, and not just because of the dampness. He clenched his fist for a moment, soaking up the soreness that lingered in his joints, the weather doing nothing to alleviate his aches. Well, maybe he would just let his hands get a little air, but only for a moment. He had carefully begun to take off his gloves when Dandy returned, kicking the doors open as his arms were full. And damn him and his timing, for just as he walked in the fresh bruises across the clown’s knuckles were nearly impossible to miss.  
  
The clown quickly put his hands behind his back, having hoped to keep them strategically placed for the rest of this incident so that Dandy wouldn’t fuss over him as he so often did when his clown returned to him with cuts and marks on his skin that had not been there the last time. Well, it was too late for hiding the bruises, and Twisty let out a soft groan as Dandy strode over to him, dumping the armful of clothes he’d come back with onto the bed.  
  
“Let me see your hands,” he said firmly, sticking out his own, palms up so that something, namely the clown’s own battered hands, could be put in them. The larger man huffed and shook his head, but Dandy didn’t back down, repeating himself just as firmly. However, the second time the clown could have sworn he’d seen something like concern on his face. It surprised him each time he saw Dandy expressing something other that overt glee and melodrama, and he wasn't sure he trusted it. Of course, if he wanted to avoid a tantrum then he really didn't have any other choice.  
  
Reluctantly, the clown brought his hands forward and laid them atop Dandy’s open palms, nearly covering up his companion's hands entirely. In the light it was plain to see that his knuckles were covered in bruises that had only just started to turn purple. Still fresh and still sore and marbled in shades of yellow and red. Dandy frowned as he saw them and shook his head, as if the clown wasn’t feeling patronized enough. This was exactly the reason that he hadn’t wanted Dandy to notice in the first place. He should have just left his gloves on. They may have started to get uncomfortable, but it was better than being pitied and treated like a child.  
  
“You threw one of your tantrums again didn’t you?” The clown didn’t answer and averted his eyes. He might as well have shouted yes, but instead he just made a grumbling sound, embarrassed for a multitude of reasons. If Dandy thought this looked bad then he should have seen the dent the clown had made in the side of his bus.  
  
He hated when he got that frustrated and that angry. He really did. When he felt so tired and so sad and so useless that it felt better to beat his fists until they were bruised and bleeding. It gave him something else to think about and a lingering soreness that he wished would deter him from doing it again. Alas, it never did, and every so often there would be new dents and bloodied knuckles once again. Of course, up until this point he hadn't had anyone there to scold him for it or to be concerned when he showed up looking like he'd been to hell and back.  
  
Dandy frowned and pulled the clown’s hands up to his face, placing a few light kisses across the beaten up joints. They tickled a bit, and Twisty cringed slightly. The clown looked up from the ground to the young man’s face, watching the surprisingly gentle act with a small amount of suspicion. He had nearly forgotten what affection felt like, and it was coming from a place he would have never dreams. Once he seemed satisfied, Dandy released the clown’s hands and took a step back.  
  
“I know it’s not medicine, but Dora used to do that for me when I was little. Mother never had the stomach for it. It made them feel better,” he explained as he pointed to the ugly bruises across the clown’s knuckles, his distanced tone at odds with the intimacy of the memory. “Now, promise me you won’t do it again. I can’t have my clown’s hands in poor shape.”  
  
The clown stared back at him for a moment or two before nodded his agreement. Despite his mixed feelings, his hands did feel a little better than they did before. If Dandy didn’t want him to hurt himself anymore then he was at least going to try.


End file.
